Alone in Paris by Ashley Earley
The streets of Paris are crowded. People surround the marketplace on the corner as I walk by. My hands are twitching at my sides, tempted to push and shoulder my way through the crowd just to reach the other side. I let out a long, shaky sigh and run my sweaty hands down my jeans. I smile back weakly. We stand there in awkward silence for a long moment until I finally walk away. I missed reading it.
I may never get to read every word the book holds in its pages again.
After pushing my way back through the crowd, I make a sharp right to walk down an alley. I glance around before opening the door.
Pushing off the door, I walk into the main entrance and up the creaking staircase. I turn left when I reach the top and walk to the end of the hallway—to the last door on the right. I push my bedroom door open and head straight for my window seat, where I intend to stay for the next few hours; settled into the old, dusty cushions as I read. People still clutter the sidewalks, chatting and walking, barely taking in their surroundings. The old book smell hits me when I open the pages. I read the words slowly as I sink into the story. I become part of the book. I set my book down, deciding to go for a walk. The Eiffel Tower is only a few blocks away. Once downstairs, I glance out the window by the door to see if anyone is in the alley. I never use the front door. The light from the street is visible at the end of the alley.
Most people are partying or having dinner—that’s why no one else is walking the streets.
It’s lit up, brightening up the cloudy sky with its spectacular lights. I turn to face the nearly-empty park.
Across the park is an overgrown vegetation that hides a small iron gate. I click open the gate and step into the small park.
String lights twinkle in the trees, illuminating the small pond with gold flakes that remind me of stars.
I sigh, letting my hand fall, tempted to touch the still water instead—to make it ripple.
I reach out, allowing a single finger to touch the surface of the water.
Lonely. My heart grips as the word crosses my mind. My stomach growls again, giving me the push I need to head into the crowd. The sight and scent makes my mouth water and stomach rumble. My hand subconsciously moves to my demanding stomach. Right on time, my stomach quietly growls, and I decide that I don’t care. My eyes almost bulge.
“Thank you,” he says just before walking off. I watch through the window as he stops at a table—where a woman about his age sits, reading a book.
